BENEATH the flat and paper sky <br />The sun, a demon's eye, <br />Glowed through the air, that mask of glass; <br />All wand'ring sounds that pass <br /> <br />Seemed out of tune, as if the light <br />Were fiddle-strings pulled tight. <br />The market-square with spire and bell <br />Clanged out the hour in Hell; <br /> <br />The busy chatter of the heat <br />Shrilled like a parakeet; <br />And shuddering at the noonday light <br />The dust lay dead and white <br /> <br />As powder on a mummy's face, <br />Or fawned with simian grace <br />Round booths with many a hard bright toy <br />And wooden brittle joy: <br /> <br />The cap and bells of Time the Clown <br />That, jangling, whistled down <br />Young cherubs hidden in the guise <br />Of every bird that flies; <br /> <br />And star-bright masks for youth to wear, <br />Lest any dream that fare <br />--Bright pilgrim--past our ken, should see <br />Hints of Reality. <br /> <br />Upon the sharp-set grass, shrill-green, <br />Tall trees like rattles lean, <br />And jangle sharp and dissily; <br />But when night falls they sign <br /> <br />Till Pierrot moon steals slyly in, <br />His face more white than sin, <br />Black-masked, and with cool touch lays bare <br />Each cherry, plum, and pear. <br /> <br />Then underneath the veiled eyes <br />Of houses, darkness lies-- <br />Tall houses; like a hopeless prayer <br />They cleave the sly dumb air. <br /> <br />Blind are those houses, paper-thin <br />Old shadows hid therein, <br />With sly and crazy movements creep <br />Like marionettes, and weep. <br /> <br />Tall windows show Infinity; <br />And, hard reality, <br />The candles weep and pry and dance <br />Like lives mocked at by Chance. <br /> <br />The rooms are vast as Sleep within; <br />When once I ventured in, <br />Chill Silence, like a surging sea, <br />Slowly enveloped me.<br /><br />Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/clowns-houses/
